


it's you and me ; that's my whole world .

by 3rdgymbros



Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Reader uses song magic, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21860422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3rdgymbros/pseuds/3rdgymbros
Summary: [ fuegoleon vermillion x reader ]
Relationships: Fuegoreon Vermillion/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review !

Ever since you can remember, you’ve always spent your weekends at the Vermillion estate. When you were younger, you and your parents would journey there to meet your fiancée. You’ve become such a familiar face around the estate that the guards simply smile at you and wave you through. Now that you’re older, your parents rarely accompany you anymore, and so you make the trips solo.

You walk along the drive, amongst neatly manicured gardens and its army of gardeners. The hot sun pours over your flesh, and you close your eyes in pleasure. This is how you remember it, running barefooted and hand-in-hand with Fuegoleon in the compound of the Vermillion Estate. A familiar smell drifts to you, of hot damp undergrowth and frangipani, and already, it feels as though some part of you has come home.

You pass the family physician in the hallway.

“It’s a good day,” The doctor informs you, smiling.

“That’s good to hear. Thank you.” You smile back.

It’s been almost a month since Fuegoleon’s defeat. Most days, he lies placidly on the bed under a layer of blankets and freshly fluffed pillows, not moving, barely breathing.

But on good days, something happens – a flutter underneath the closed eyelids, the movement of his index finger, a twitch in his cheek. Once in a while, he sighs for no reason at all. They are all small, infinitesimal signs of a vibrant man trapped in the cocoon of a living death.

You remember the doctor’s final prognosis. “All of his organs are functioning. He is perfectly healthy, but yet he still remains unconscious. It is a mystery.” Surprisingly, the doctors are still convinced that there’s a chance he can awaken, given the right circumstances. “Sometimes, it's a song. Or a voice from the past. Something triggers them, and they wake up. Really, he can wake up at any time.”

You have to hide a smile then, thinking of Leo and his rambunctious attempts to rouse his brother into wakefulness, which had not been limited to lighting fireworks in his room.

You push open the doors to Fuegoleon’s room, greeting the heavy, silent air with a cheerful smile and a wave. The room is as luxurious as ever, with dark walls, paneled in teak, and the fittings of bright red velvet. You set your book down on the ornately carved bedside table, with the small crystal bowl of flaming flowers.

You help to change the linens, and you clean and dust the room, despite how the servants have protested numerous times. You freshen the water pitcher, bring in more flowers – _life_ – from the gardens, and you check his fingers and toes for cold. It seems to you such an easy thing to do. Your own frigid fingers and toes never seem to warm, and always ache with piercing cold, even when Fuegoleon had carefully held your hands in his.

Finally, with a rush of air, you declare the room to be cleaned to your standards, and, after wiping down your hands, you sit on the very edge of his bed.

You always feel so inadequate in this moment; when you look around the room, as silent as a graveyard, and realize that there’s nothing more for you to busy yourself with. You never know the right thing to say or do, or how to help. So you sit and speak quietly of nothing and everything. You tell him about your day, of his siblings, and more importantly, of his beloved squad. You wet his lips and wash his face. You rub some of your own sweetly-scented lotion into his dry skin. You grab a brush and wrangle the tangles out of his long, auburn hair.

You even push the door to his room shut – after all, there isn’t anyone around to worry about propriety, not anymore – and you try out some verses of your song magic, as futile as it is. Your grimoire is pathetically small, with more blank pages than filled ones, a testament to how unskilled you are, and how much further you have to go.

But still, you sing with all your might, singing of the mushroomy earth and pine sap of the outdoors, the warm sunshine and the silvery moonlight, the licorice darkness and the sugary light. You sing of how good life is, willing him to remember, willing him to continue clinging to life.

_Please. Please. Please._

You think your hands glow, warmth finally seeping through and warming fingers chilled to the bone.

Exhausted, you have to pause to draw a breath, and look at the bed hopefully. Nothing. No movement whatsoever.

“If – If you wake up,” You say, gathering your resolve, and reaching out to hold onto his hand, “I’ll practice my magic. I’ll – I’ll work hard. I’ll become _strong_. And I won’t cry anymore. _Please_.”

You glance at Fuegoleon’s placid face. Nothing. Not even a wrinkle on his cheek. A ghost of a smile.

Tears flowing freely now – _even though you’d just promised him that you wouldn’t cry anymore_ – they flow down your cheeks unceasingly, refusing to stop or slow. The quiet room is filled with a deep piercing grief, and for the first time since you’d gotten the news of his injury, you weep without abandon for all that you’ve lost.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been a bad shift for you.

A number of healers have succumbed to the current wave of flu sweeping the town, leaving the hospital short staffed, and you’ve been shunted from one ward to another. For a while, you’ve been in the First Class ward to which only nobles are admitted; the most difficult thing there is dealing with the lewd comments of a sick nobleman twice your age.

You slog through two shifts back-to-back without rest, fighting the urge to lock yourself in a broom closet and refusing to come out. The next morning, as the first weak light of day grows in the open door of the Admissions Room, you’re barely able to keep on your feet.

After changing out of your white robes and into a more serviceable dress of aquamarine silk, you make your way back to the headquarters of the Crimson Lions, stifling a yawn as you climb the stairs to Fuegoleon’s room. Over the weeks, you’ve developed a comfortable routine – you’ll visit him before and after your shifts in the infirmary, chattering away as your words fill the empty silence. Sometimes Leo will drop in, sometimes Mereleona; but for the most part, you’re left alone with Fuegoleon. 

Today, the headquarters seem unusually quiet. There’s almost a desolate, abandoned feel to the building that makes your skin crawl. Life is lived elsewhere; even the nurses in charge of his care look anxious to take off for the weekend.

You’re thrown back to the earlier days of Fuegoleon and his coma; everyone in the Vermilion estate had been plunged into foreboding and distress, sunk for weeks into a state of lowered voices and black reverie.

Fearing that their only daughter would be tethered to an invalid, your parents had been most insistent that the engagement with the Vermilion family be broken off, but you’d surprised everyone present, including yourself, by coldly stating, _“If this arrangement is to be annulled, I want to hear it from Fuegoleon when he wakes up. Nobody else.”_

The unexpected gesture had shocked your parents into silence – the newest lion to the pride had bared her teeth at last.

Mereleona had gazed at you with a dawning in her eyes. You think that she’d harbored her doubts about whether you would be able to fit into their pride, why Fuegoleon had let this engagement go on for as long as it did, but this show of backbone had impressed Mereleona, who now looks at you with new eyes. Leopold had loudly proclaimed that he was proud to have you as a sister, to which you’d gently reminded him that nothing was set in stone as of yet; for all you knew, Fuegoleon might awaken from his coma and announce the engagement to be over, to which you’d acquiesce to his wishes, even though your heart would surely shatter if such a thing were to happen.

You greet your fiancée, who slumbers on at the sound of your voice. Tiredly, you check his breathing, dampen his lips lightly, and wash his face with a warm cloth.

You draw up a chair by his bedside, your eyes landing on a forgotten bouquet placed on a nearby table. The flowers are wilted and tired, a brown, crispy tinge at the edge of its leaves. Several petals have dropped, now dry and crinkled. The flower isn’t dead yet, but it’s not far off. You lean forward and press your hands to the blooms, moving your face near enough so that your lips brush against the edge of its leaves, and then you hum, a mindless tune of a lullaby you remember your nanny singing once. Your three-leafed clover grimoire floats in the air beside you, shining an iridescent shade of pink.

You think you’ve gotten stronger; you haven’t forgotten your earlier promise to Fuegoleon, made in the throes of grief as you’d sobbed your heart out beside him. _You’d promised to become stronger, and that you wouldn’t cry anymore._ You’ve tried, struggling to figure out your magic on your own, adding more spells to your grimoire as you train. It doesn’t seem quite so small anymore, and you can look upon the pages with pride shining through in your smile.

An icy feeling shoots down your spine and, in response, life bursts through the bouquet, filling the room with the intoxicating fragrance of spring. Flowers springs upward and a verdant green floods the leaves and stalk and new petals bloom, colorless at first, then turning a brilliant shade of crimson.

Releasing a huffed-out breath of exhaustion, you finally allow yourself to wilt onto the hard-backed chair. You take hold of Fuegoleon’s hand, still somehow burning with heat, relaxing your core as you hold it tightly, as though he’s all you have left.

“ **( Your Name )**? **( Your Name )**?” Your name comes from a distance.

You open your eyes to find yourself leaning with your head against the mattress. Fuegoleon’s hand is still clutched tightly in yours. His covers are askew.

“What happened?” You ask Leo.

“I think you fainted.” He peers into your eyes. “Are you okay?” His concern is palpable.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You came about an hour ago, and you wouldn’t wake up when I came in. Asta and Noelle are here, but I told them to wait outside –”

“We shouldn’t keep them waiting.” You stand, your legs buckling as a wave of dizziness floods you; Leo darts over, surprisingly fast, and catches you in the nick of time. You shake back burning, twirling fatigue. You have to get to sleep earlier.

Leo guides you and your quivering knees over to the edge of the bed, before moving to the door and ushering in Asta and Noelle. He’s shaping up to be quite the leader, especially since he’s been placed in charge of the squad while Mereleona’s away – under the vice-captain’s careful eye, of course.

Your lips curve up into a wan smile as the two of them enter, dressed in new robes of maroon, edged with blue. It’s odd not seeing them in their black and gold robes, but you think that this new look suits them just as well. Knowing that the Eye of the Midnight sun will soon be destroyed should fill you with relief, but a bad feeling tickles your neck and puts you more on edge. You can’t help but think of all the possible ways that things could go wrong, even though they’re led by the more-than capable Mereleona.

Knowing Fuegoleon, he’d tell you to have faith in all of them, and you try to hold onto that thought as you heave an exhale and return to the present.

“It’s good of you to come visit, even though we’re rivals!” Leo declares with a flourish, hovering by your chair, not touching you, but close enough that you feel his presence. “I heard from my sister that the two of you were scrappy enough to pass the Royal Knights Exam!”

“Congratulations,” You add, your smile blooming as you turn your attention to Asta and Noelle, their cheeks pinking at the full force of your smile. You still find yourself clutching to Fuegoleon’s hand for support, his touch grounding you and giving you strength, even as all you want to do is to drift off to sleep and the oblivion that it brings. Your tired mind can’t keep up with the rest of you, and before your mind can register what your mouth is saying, the words have already tumbled out, and it’s far too late to take them back. “Fuegoleon, look, the children came to visit!”

There’s silence for a blessed second, as your brain registers what your mouth has said, and just as a wave of embarrassment washes over you, all hell breaks loose.

“C-Children?” Noelle splutters, her cheeks tinted bright pink. “We-We’re not –”

“We’re not your children!” Asta screeches at top volume, competing with and somehow managing to overpower Leo’s deranged cackles.

Leo completely revels in your misery, laughing harder as he sees how flustered you look, and how you’re stewing in your own embarrassment. You suppose it’s a nice change from how down he was at not being able to pass the Royal Knights Selection Exam, but now, as his laughter rings loud in your ears, you briefly consider fratricide.

In the face of having just admitted that you see Asta and Noelle as your children – and after admitting that you wouldn’t mind having Fuegoleon’s children – all you want is to bury your head in your hands, put your fingers in your ears and sing at the top of your lungs.

“I’m sorry!” You blurt out, your heart racing. Your fingers leave deep crescents in the soft flesh of Fuegoleon’s own palms. “I’m really sorry, I don’t know why I said that!”

“He’s smiling,” Leo says, suddenly, amazed, and the four of you fall silent.

All of you peer at his face.

It’s true.

His normally placid face wrinkles up in the ghost of a smile, and you feel tears prick at your eyes. Stubbornly, you refuse to let them fall, continuing to hold onto his hand as Leo talks to Noelle and Asta, your previous slip of the tongue forgotten. Your sadness mingles with the happiness you feel, and it still seems to take tangible form in the space around you.


	3. Chapter 3

You’re jerked awake in the middle of the night by the door being forced open and a cacophony of heavy boots thundering towards you. Legs tangled up in the blankets, you tumble off the spindly sofa in a panic; the hard landing shocks the dregs of sleep from your mind.

Your voice trembles as you push yourself to your feet. “What’s going on?”

“The sky is red. The capital is burning,” The newest recruit to the Crimson Lions, a small, delicately boned youth with dark burning eyes, draws your attention to your windows.

You’d thrown the shutters back the night before, pushing aside the blackout cloth, and now, in horror, you gaze out into the deep pink sky. Above the black silhouettes of trees, the sky is alight with fiery reflection. The night seems to come alive with pain and suffering.

And yet, you know there’s more. _There’s always more._ A bad feeling hovers over your gut, icy fingers of dread tightening your bowels. “What else?”

“Vice Captain Randall’s gone berserk and he’s started attacking!” Another member of the squad blurts out. You don’t know his name, though you should by now. “It’s not just him, some others – They all have these strange markings – Leopold went to hold them off, but –”

 _“Alone?”_ You cry out in alarm. Worry frays the edges of your voice.

“Some others went with him, but –”

“Stay here. Protect Fuegoleon.” You motion to the man slumbering in bed – your hands and feet already up and moving in a flurry of desperation, grabbing your grimoire off the desk – you’re so absorbed that you don’t notice a hitch in Fuegoleon’s breathing, the twitching of his toes under the thin white sheets.

“Miss **( Last Name )** , what are you –”

“I’m going to help Leo. _Stay here._ ”

One of them protests feebly. “But Captain Fuegoleon would never forgive us if you were injured –”

“ _Stay here_.” A delicately sharpened edge comes into your voice. You’re baring your fangs again, showing some hint of a backbone. Mereleona would be proud. “That’s an order.”

It’s with eyes full of pain and apology that you gaze down at Fuegoleon, squeezing his hand for what might be the last time, wishing you were brave enough to kiss him, but again hating yourself for being unable to, and the thoughts echo in your head as you rush from the room in your thin nightgown, forgetting, in your haste, to slip on a pair of shoes. You stumble barefoot on the cold stone floor, not slowing down even when the scrapes and scratches of the stones beneath your feet draw blood.

You burst onto the courtyard in a whirl of white skirts and red silk; almost immediately, you see Leo. His face is a mass of small cuts, and there’s a bloody tear in his trousers, but relief floods through you – _he’s alive_.

You don’t know how you would have answered to Fuegoleon and Mereleona otherwise.

_“Song Magic – Musical Shield!”_

Upon your shrieked out command, your magic wraps itself around Leo in a protective cocoon; Randall’s next attack bounces harmlessly off your shield. Randall’s eyes narrow, the flurry of attacks only increasing with intensity. You use the chance to slip close to Leo, grabbing at his arm in worry.

_“Leo!”_

Relief blooms over his face. “ **( Your Name )**? You shouldn’t –”

“Leo, listen to me. We don’t have much time.” You cut him off mid-sentence. Your eyes burn with renewed intensity as you lean forwards, loosening your grip on his arm and holding onto his hands instead. “I’m going to find the rest of the squad – the ones like Randall, and I’m going to stop them before they can do more damage. We have to keep them here, before they escape and hurt civilians. But I need you to take care of Randall. Can you do that for me?”

“I –”

A crack near you forces your head up to investigate; your eyes widen, your face blanching as you realize that your shield won’t hold out for much longer. Your ears pop, but all you can hear is a train’s approach. A huge, angry train whistling to you right on a collision course.

You have to raise your voice to be heard over the wind. “ _Leo_. Can you take him? Yes or no.”

Leo swallows. You think he might falter, but then he seems to remember the red cloak around both his shoulders, and you can read the stubborn pride spreading over his face. “Yes.”

“Good.” Ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you give Leo’s hand a final squeeze, almost mirroring the way you’d tenderly held onto his brother’s hand just moments before. “Are you ready?”

“Leave it to me.”

And just as your shield shatters into pieces, Leo sends up a spiral column of flames, and you dart away. Behind you, you hear Randall’s voice shrieking high alarm, screaming out unfamiliar names and demands to stop you before you can escape.

 _Good,_ you think grimly to yourself, leaving a trail of bloodied footprints in your wake. _Come after me._

The pounding of you heart thunders through your body, but you’re not sure if it’s caused by excitement or panic or dread or some combination of the three. Despite the chill in the air, your skin feels cold and clammy. The smell of ash and burning flesh hangs heavily in the air; Leo’s flames give the scene a weak illumination, and it’s in the glow of these flames that you see how they’ve herded you into a corner, prey herded into a trap.

But when you turn around, on your next breath, you are strong and sure and ready to rise. You wrap yourself around the same silent mantra, the words repeating and reverberating through you. _I will not die. I will not die. I have to go back and help Leo. I have to go back to Fuegoleon. I will not die. I will not die._

_“Song Magic – Mother’s Lullaby!”_

Your grimoire flutters open in a burst of light, the rustling of the white pages filling you with comfort. Thrusting out your hands, you start to sing. Your voice clings to them like a silk shawl, light and cool. You barely have to sing the first bar of the lullaby before they collapse to the ground like dominoes, one after another.

 _Is that all of them? How many members of the squad are like Randall?_ Your mind races, trying to find solutions and answers to the problem which you have no idea how to solve.

You hear the splash of cool water before you feel it, but when it envelopes you, it turns your skin to ice, pouring into your still screaming mouth. In a throb of panic, you find yourself reaching for your grimoire, but you only end up gulping down even more water when you open your mouth to cast a spell. It’s a simple but effective way of incapacitating you, and you might even be impressed if the situation wasn’t so dire. Your lungs begin to burn and scream for air, black spots dancing before your eyes.

White-hot pain lances through you, sharp spikes of ice shooting up and piercing through skin. Blood stains the clear water with burgundy poison. Your voice refuses to work as pain, all-consuming pain shoots through your brain, stopping your heart, freezing your blood, killing your mind.

Your mind becomes fuzzy as something orange flashes in the corner of your eye. The freezing temperature of the water changes to a balmy warmth, and despite yourself, you relax, the tension leeching out of your frame. _I’m sorry Leo, but it looks like I’m going to be with your brother now._ You vaguely realise that the light is moving and that its blurred outline resembles a body before the bubble of water surrounding you vanishes in a cloud of steam.

Your body crumples, but just as you expect to hit the ground with a sickening thud, you’re cradled gently in a pair of warm arms, one made of flesh, and another made of flames. The heat is gentle against the ruined cotton of your chemise, but you wince when fabric brushes over the tender wounds and sticks to the blood painting your body red.

“ **( Your Name )**.”

The affection in that familiar voice is enough for your breath to catch in your throat, your heart faltering in your chest. You’re imagining things. _It can’t be him._ It isn’t the first time that the pain has gone to your head. But even as you think it, you know that it isn’t in your head, that it’s the same voice you’ve begged God to give you another chance to hear.

Your eyelids feel stitched together, but you force them open, catching a glimpse of red silk, of a shirt in midnight blue. Auburn hair pulled back from a tanned sharp-edged face, eyes the colour of violets.

Those same violet eyes, alight in worry, running up and down the torn flesh of your form, but then hastily averting when he realizes you’re almost naked. He sheds his cloak and wraps you up in it, shielding you from the freezing air. The darkness glows orange, and you feel warmth engulf you, the clatter of footsteps below your back.

“ **( Your Name )** , you’ve gotten strong, haven’t you?”

_“If – If you wake up,” You say, gathering your resolve, and reaching out to hold onto his hand, “I’ll practice my magic. I’ll – I’ll work hard. I’ll become strong. And I won’t cry anymore. Please.”_

The words wrench a sob from you that you can’t control. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, and break down, his words cutting to the very center of you.

“Fuegoleon. _You came back._ ”

“I won’t leave you again,” He promises, but all you do is cry harder, enveloped in his warmth.


End file.
